We All Need Someone
by KoolJack1
Summary: House is suffering from spiraling depression, but Wilson refuses to let him go.


_"_Go home already, Wilson," House said as he limped back down to the couch, keeping his arms close to his body as he fell onto the cushion next to him. Wilson took another sip of his coffee and kept his eyes on the television. House glared at him, annoyed by how easily Wilson ignored him. "I'm fine, I don't need a babysitter. Now get out." Wilson's only response was silence, and House couldn't take it anymore. His hand shot out before he could think twice, knocking the coffee out of Wilson's hands and onto his chest. "Answer me, damn it!"

Wilson gasped and jumped to his feet, quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt to get the hot material off his chest. "I can't just leave you here, House! You tried to kill yourself, you keep cutting yourself, and you're mixing your pills with alcohol. You are not fine, and I can't leave you here alone because you'll put yourself right back in the hospital; that is if someone finds you before you choke on your own vomit or put yourself in cardiac arrest." The outburst was followed by a tense silence. Wilson pulled his button up from his shoulders, leaving him in just his undershirt and trousers. Only then did he let his eyes travel to his friend. House was slouched over, his good knee jumping restlessly and his face in his hands. He'd never seen House look so vulnerable...so _broken. _"I'm here because I'm your friend Greg, and I can't let you do something bad to yourself."

House's fingers tightened in his hair, pulling on the short strands. "You can't _let_ me do anything. What you _can_ do is get out of my apartment and let me take care of myself." Wilson knew when he took on the responsibility of taking care of his...best friend that he was accepting something harder than he ever had before.

"House, listen to me," Wilson said gently, carefully sitting down next to his friend again. He eased House's death grip on his hair and took the shaking hands in his own. In the past week since House's _accident_, they had this conversation at least three different times. Wilson held the hands firmly and forced eye contact, "Greg, you know I'm not going anywhere. You're sick and in pain, but you will get better. If I walk out that door now, you and I both know you aren't going to ensure that you will get healthy again."

House tugged his hands free, shoving at Wilson angrily. _He needs his pills_, Wilson reminded himself. The rage and violence were what happened when he didn't take the sedatives and the anti-depressants on schedule. "I can make you feel better House, let me just get the pills for you."

House grabbed his arm as he went to stand up, "You can make me feel better, without the pills." James stared down at House, his piercing blue eyes boring into his own. He tugged on his friends arm, hard enough to pull him back onto the couch. Before Wilson could even respond, House's lips were crushing his roughly. Frozen, James tried to comprehend that his depressed, suicidal, male friend was kissing him like his life depended on it. Maybe in that moment his life _did _depend on it. Gaining his senses, Wilson pulled his face back.

"You need your pills, this isn't what you want." House only grunted in frustration, grabbing the back of Wilson's head.

"Just kiss me back, Jimmy. Please, that's all I want. I want _someone_..." House squeezed his eyes closed tightly and pushed their lips together. House had no idea what he wanted, and Wilson had no idea what he was doing. Their lips moved together roughly, House's hands clutching at Wilson to the point where it hurt.

Wilson turned his head finally, "Stop it House, you're not thinking straight. You know what depression does to people. You're sick and desperate for, I don't know, human connection. That's why I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." He tried to be gentle, cautious of the half healed cuts covering House's pale skin, as he pulled himself free of his friend's grasp. Wilson almost sat back down when he saw the look of hurt and betrayal on House's face. He was back seconds later with the pills, and House took them without thinking and laid down on the couch- stretching out so Wilson couldn't sit down. The past few days, House had beckoned Wilson to sit down so House's head could settle in his lap. Wilson silently understood and settled down in the recliner, keeping his promise to be a good friend.


End file.
